


Let Them Bleed

by spindlekiss



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Voldemort Wins, Homophobic Language, M/M, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-23
Updated: 2016-11-23
Packaged: 2018-09-01 15:41:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8629684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spindlekiss/pseuds/spindlekiss
Summary: “What’s your star sign?” Harry asks him one day.“Gemini.” Draco replies. “Hmm,” says Harry, shuffling through some of the papers he’s been looking at. “Says here that the leo and the gemini relationship can sometimes be hard work.”“Didn’t need to tell me that.” Draco grumbles.





	

1

The chip packet crackles as Draco Rat noses his snout inside and wraps his pinked hands around a smatter of flaky crumbs. Salt and vinegar. Good. Hearing footsteps—the low crunch of gravel beneath a boot—he backs out of the packet quickly and scurries around the rail to hide behind a large plank in the middle of the track. He knows that Scab has found him.

“You’re here,” says Scab. “I can smell you.”

Draco Rat presses himself to the gravel as flat as he can, the stones dig in to the soft flesh of his belly. His whiskers twitch, and his beady eyes water.

"Daddy can't save you now," the voice taunts. "Potter can't save you now. You'll have to do it yourself."

Draco shudders. He's never been more afraid in his life.

“You can’t hide, little mouse, ugly crawler. I will always know where you are.”

 

2

Once upon a time, he and Harry had hated one another, and then the war had come, and Draco’s parents had died, killed by the lord they had sworn to obey. Draco’s blood had boiled and boiled with all the tightly bottled fury and grief of a young boy mourning the parents he had loved and despised in near equal measure. 

He had mourned for weeks. And then, he had gone to see Potter. 

 

3

Draco Rat peeks his head out past the rail, and for a moment, he is hyper-aware. He can smell all the human smells—grime, and sweat, and shit—he feels as the human feels—frightened, cowardly, sick to the gut with the knowledge of his own insignificance.

“On your belly, huh, Rat? Snivelling for certain, ha!” Scab says gleefully.

If Draco Rat could have spoken, or conversely, come up with something clever to say, he wouldn’t have. He is struck by an intense and paralysing terror. Draco Rat is only just about to move when a human hand, warm and spongy, reaches down and grabs him around the gut.

He squeaks in fright, and struggles desperately, but to no avail. The hand is like a vice—a bony cage of blood, muscle, and skin. The mark is an ink-blot across his arm. Dark magic radiates from it, hate and fury filling the air through furious waves.

Draco Rat has eaten worse.

He bites down, and for a moment, the iron tang of blood fills his mouth, then he is flying. Draco tumbles towards the ground, momentarily free, only to land in the chip packet, open and waiting, salt and vinegar, he knows that know, has eaten muggle food and everything. The bag closes tight over his head. He wonder if he will suffocate this night. And never see the people he loves again. 

“Silly rat,” chastises Scab. “You bit me. And I can’t have that.”

Draco Rat feels human fingers press down against his side. Trapped in the bag, there is nothing he can do. Draco Rat waits, and Scab squeezes.

“I made you a rat because you reminded me of one. Most people do of course, but you had the coward’s slump and the red nose to match. Shall I stop?” he asks as he digs his nail into Draco Rat’s stomach. It is long and sharp, piercing through the packet and pressing painfully at Draco Rat’s gut like a pin in a balloon.

Draco Rat shrieks in agony, and Scab relents, tipping the packet up and dropping Draco Rat to the ground. He hits the cold metal of the track with a dull thud. His gut aches. He remembers a happier time in this place, stepping onto the Hogwarts Express, all full of enthusiasm and without a fucking clue that the future would be so monstrous. 

“I’d bet you don’t remember what it is to be human, little mouse.”

Draco Rat stares at the sky. The stars are gone, polluted by city light, drowned in human dirt.

“I’d bet you don’t even remember what it is to bleed.”

But Draco Rat does. One thousand wounds cut their way to the forefront of his mind—the crimson spilling out his veins and matting his fur now hardly seem to matter.

Instead, he remembers the human things—toe turned rusty after being scraped across bitumen. The cruciatus curse. Nail skin burning as he pulled away a single dead strip with his teeth. Potters nose crunching beneath his foot. A red flash across the counter-top as he prepared a meal, and suddenly, trouble telling the difference between diced tomatoes and his thumb.

And as for being human? Well Draco remembers that too, guts spilling over the bathroom floor, wind in his hair as he swoops down, down, down, towards the snitch, Potter’s hateful green eyes, Potters loving green eyes. Loving Potter. Potter loving him back.

 

4

Once upon a time, Harry Potter had spoken to him harshly, and then bruised his neck with a violent kiss. They bit, scratched and shoved each other up the stairs of Grimmauld Place, and Draco Malfoy had pushed Harry Potter down, down, down, onto his bed and sucked his pink cock as though there was nothing he would rather do in the world. There hadn't been./p>

 Harry Potter had groaned and pulled his hair before snapping. “Watch the fucking teeth, Malfoy.”

Draco had bit down on the inner flesh of his thigh just to prove that he wouldn’t be ordered about.

 

5

Nothing has ever touched Draco without leaving a mark, but that doesn’t stop him from thinking that somewhere, somewhere, there must be something better than the struggle. Draco Rat strains to remember something more, something better than bruises, scars, and old wounds. Something cleaner than nights spent crawling the city and praying for something better. Of course, it was the crawling and the praying that led him to Scab.

 

6

“Do you want to do something great?”

Draco looks up, and stops kicking the gravel with his shoe. There is a man, a man he had not noticed before, Draco should’ve noticed. He’s been trained to notice.

The man is strange, leaning casually up against the post of the street light. A black jacket drapes the breadth of his shoulders, a cigarette hangs limp from slash lips. Like Draco, he has white blonde hair and pointed features. Unlike Draco, he wears them well.

“No thanks.” Draco says.

“That’s not much of an answer.” the man replies, raising an eyebrow and a hand. “I’m Scab.”

“Err,” says Draco, gripping his palm briefly. “Draco. I’m Draco.”

“Weak handshake, Draco.” notes Scab conversationally.

He blows a puff of smoke from his nose, before dropping his cigarette to the ground and crushing it beneath his heel. It does not occur to Draco to be afraid.

Scab lights another and steps away from the post. He turns to leave.

“Wait,” says Draco, thinking that maybe this is a new recruit, someone young and scrappy who can join their cause and fight. “What do you mean... about wanting to be great?”

“Doing something great.” Scab corrects, eyes sly.

“Yeah,” says Draco. “Whatever.”

It’s no secret that the side of the light are dwindling. At this point Draco’s only sticking around because his parents are dead and the only person on this stupid planet he’s tethered to is Potter.

 

7

“Hey Malfoy,” Potter says one day, it’s been weeks since they started this stupid, painful thing up, they’re lying in Draco’s bed at the headquarters, and Draco’s got his hands all up in Potter’s hair. It’s soft, and warm, and Draco likes the way Potter shudders when he digs his nails into the scalp.

“Yeah,” he replies, with a yawn. “What?”

“I think I’m in love with you?”

Draco pauses, and his heart freezes. Potter looks over at him with terribly earnest eyes. Draco knows in an instant that he is not lying. Just deluded. “How do you know?” he asks politely. 

“Just do.” says Potter, tone warm and sleepy. “It’s a feeling, like…”

Draco sighs, and pulls away, rolling onto his back and crossing his arms. “You’re too young to fall in love. And you don’t know me. And you’ve got issues. And I’ve got issues. And a thousand other reasons.”

“Reasons for what?”

“Reasons you can’t love me.”

It’s like waving a red flag at a bull. Harry sits up quickly, and shoves the blankets away. Draco tries not to appreciate the softness of Harry’s skin, or the purple love-marks littering his chest. “Fuck you, Malfoy. I know what I'm about. I fucking love you, you piece of shit.”

Draco snorts. “You’ve warmed my heart, how could a boy say no to that.”

Potter leans close, kisses the corner of Draco’s mouth, and smiles. “A boy doesn’t,” he replies.

And God help Draco if he’s not bloody charmed. 

 

8

One day, when everything is finally too hopeless, Draco will convince Potter to give up the fight. 

They’ll grow old and anonymous on some shining bay in the Americas. Of course, they have to survive until then. And Potter’s a stubborn bugger, but Draco has his dreams. And in the mean-time, he can help out. Collecting information isn’t so difficult, most of the time, all he has to do is pass messages on between order members. It’s a lot of standing around. But that’s okay, because in between work, it’s a lot of Harry, Harry, Harry.

 

9

Scab leans back against the post with the sort of grace that in another life Draco might have associated with a dancer. “Can I bum one, mate?” he asks, nodding at the smoke.

“Sure thing.” Scab says, face pale in the white light of the lamp. Draco can’t help but note the expensive cut of his clothing. And the leather wallet sticking out of his pocket. A man this well dressed, Draco muses, is sure to have beens someone important, before. Draco wonders if he’s about to say the decided words, if this is a prelude to the usual message, or if this guys really is just some conversational muggle.

Draco studies his features carefully. But the man doesn’t seem to share any ancestry with the more prominent wizarding houses or families. Not a pureblood then. If he is a wizard, he’s likely the sprog of two dirty muggles from wherever the hell.

Scab looks up at him suddenly.

Draco smiles back pleasantly.

They stand in silence for a stilted moment while Scab rolls another cigarette, meticulously.

Draco grins. “Thanks.”

“Put out your hand.” Scab says.

Draco reaches across, ready, naive. Totally fooled by this mans exterior. More bloody stupid than he should be, considering he’s in the middle of a fucking war.

Scab smiles softly, and stubs the burn end into the pale flesh of Draco’s wrist.

“Fuck!” Draco shouts, pulling away abruptly and clutching at the arm. “Fuck.”

“Don’t swear at me.” Scab says, before scoffing. “You Potter-loving fools make this so easy.”

Draco hears nothing through the litany of curses he is letting flood from his own mouth. 

Scab frowns. “I do hate that language. So... rude.”

But Draco is no longer listening.

“Bloody fuck. You psychopath. I’ll hex you into next week. Shit.”

“Don’t cuss.” Scab admonishes.

“I’ll do whatever the bloody shit I want, you rat fucking bastard. Reducto!”

Scab hums, and casually shields himself, but looks otherwise non-plussed. “Hold your tongue.” he says. 

Very suddenly, the words catch in Draco’s teeth and refuse to leave his mouth. They begin to crawl back down his throat and he clutches at his neck in terror. This is not the usual sort of stranger, he realises suddenly. This is not some order member on the down-low, or a muggle. This man could be a death eater. 

Draco’s about to shield himself, when his wand jumps out of his hand. Scab catches it and smiles.

Scab watches on absently before checking his watch. “And never call me a rat.” he says, before dropping his jacket to the ground and rolling up his sleeves.

 

10

Scab crouches down to stare at him, and smiles sweet. “Can you do a trick for me?” he croons. 

“Maybe I’ll turn you back.”

Draco Rat squeaks warily.

“Roll over.” says Scab.

Draco Rat refuses.

“Roll over.” Scab repeats more firmly, before squeezing Draco Rat’s head between his thumb and forefinger lightly. A threat. Perhaps more.

Draco Rat complies. The gravel pinches at his skin as he rolls over onto his back slowly. Scab claps enthusiastically.

“Now, jump!” says Scab.

Draco Rat jumps.

In the moonlight, Scab looks demented as his lips split in a wide grin. “A mouse is a man, a man is a mouse, a man will crawl all his life, because that is who he is, and all he is.” he sing songs.

Draco Rat pants heavily. The stench of his own gut blood fills the air, and he can taste  
death on his tongue. It’s so much worse than the bathroom, or even the cruciatus. This is a pain so deliberate, slow and intentional that Draco can hardly muster the ability to scream. 

“I could turn you back you know,” Scab says contemplatively. “Because it wouldn’t make a difference at all. Your side will lose. It’s inevitable.”

Hope, true and fleeting rises up in Draco Rat’s wounded gut like sulphate. Maybe Scab will let him go. Maybe he can see Harry again, go back to the base and fall into their bed and be warm, warm, warm. Then he remembers. Remembers who he is dealing with, and remembers the first time.

Agony.

Sinew, guts and muscle distended and swelling before his skin had shrunk too small for his bones and the ground seemed suddenly a lot closer and his tail—his tail?—had thumped heavy against the ground. Two legs and two arms turned to paws and his entire anatomy rearranged itself to fit inside the Rat.

 

11

Once upon a time, Harry had touched him gently. It had taken them a while. Angry sex had been good, they’d both enjoyed it, letting their frustration out on each others bodies had been satisfying in a way that Draco never would have guessed. They’re both too young and fucked up to be messing around with some of the stuff they do though, ropes, and bruises, and that one time with the veritaserum. It doesn't stop them. Mostly because for the first time in his life, Draco is rebelling, and Harry has never followed the rules anyway. 

But eventually, it peters out. They run out of rage and hate that they can direct towards each other. Their time becomes calm, and passive. They do couple things, like sleeping (just sleeping) and talking together. Draco would have resented it more if it hadn’t been filling a hole inside him. A deep-seated need to feel closeness with another human being. They understand each other. Draco has never had that. Not even with his parents, who were dearer to him than anything. 

He thinks maybe, that it’s a good thing the both of them are so broken. Harry is all jagged edges, and Draco is all smashed glass, but somehow, they fit together, like the words messiest puzzle pieces. 

“What’s your star sign?” Harry asks him one day.

“Gemini.” Draco replies. 

“Hmm,” says Harry, shuffling through some of the papers he’s been looking at. “Says here that the leo and the gemini relationship can sometimes be hard work.”

“Don’t need to tell me that.” Draco grumbles.

“You love me.”

“Yeah, right.” Draco says. 

“We love each other.” Harry replies. 

Draco doesn’t know how to reply, so he moves the papers away, and they fuck each other on the table.

 

12

Scabs’ hands come to lift him gently, and though Draco Rats’ vision is fuzzy, he can feel it when Scab strokes his fur carefully and croons softly into his ear. “The sad truth is,” he says sombrely, “that we are all rats. Performing for our masters, scavenging like animals for the teensiest scrap in this world. Pathetic.”

Scab laughs bitterly. “I’ll turn you back,” he says calmly, as he places Draco Rat down on the gravel tracks once more. “If you lick my boots like a good little wizard. Lick my boots the way you lick Potter’s arse and cock. Faggot. Get’s you off doesn’t it? Shouldn’t be too hard. Or maybe it will be?”

Draco Rat trembles under the weight of this decision. Then creeps forward, head bowed in deep, gut-wrenching shame. He decides then, that there is nothing quite so awful as knowing yourself. 

“Your boy has been looking for you, you know. I hear he got himself caught by Bellatrix’s lot trying to find you up in the manor. Nasty business that. Just don’t know what they might be doing to him.”

No. No. Scab was lying. He had to be. It didn't matter. Draco would still prefer the chance at seeing Harry again, than the certainty of his own punishment and death.

“I’m not surprised.” says Scab, pale face clownish and disappointed when he sees that Draco has made a decision. “Well go on then, little mouse. Do it.”

Draco Rat licks his boots, once, twice, three times.

“There’s just no point in anything, is there, little mouse?” Scab sighs. “It’s all so terribly futile.”

Draco Rat nods compliantly before a searing pain shoots the length of his spine and blackness comes for his eyes.

“Well, adios, little mouse. Return to your masters. Tell them the things you’ve been through. Tell them what you’ve seen. I will laugh tonight, as I think of their horror and dismay. Regale Harry Potter, if you ever see him again, with the story, and make sure he realises that he is powerless and weak, if he can’t defend even a little mouse.”

 

13

When he wakes, Draco Rat is no more and Scab is gone.

Draco stands, human and naked in the middle of the train track at Kings Cross Station, but cannot remember how to be.

He catches the barest hint of his reflection in the aluminium of the abandoned chip packet, and though he can feel himself standing up on two legs, beady eyes peer out at him, black and unfathomable in the dark.

He will find something to wear, and then he will find Harry. 

Maybe soon, they will run away from this nightmare. 

 

14

Once upon a time Draco had met a boy again.

“I think I only love you because you told me I did.” Draco whispers to Harry’s sleeping form. “But please don’t go away, I think I’d die.”

He kisses the back of Harry’s neck, and shivers. He is full of doubt, and dread. Every day he counts down the seconds that remain until someone takes Harry from him. It makes him shudder. It makes him sick. 

He’s never cared about anyone like this before, and he’s not sure what he will do if one day, he gets home from work, and Harry is gone. 

 

15

It's his own pureblooded arrogance that allows him to under-estimate Scab. And so, when he is taken away from his post in the dead of night, he knows that it is his own fault.

He thinks about Harry, arriving back at Grimmauld and looking for him desperately in all of the rooms, and hates himself. 

He remembers the first time he had realised that he was in love, and regrets it. 

There is no room for self-delusion in hell, and Draco is painfully aware now, that love can only ever taste like a fist. Neither of them ever knew how to pull their goddamned punches.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading, bit darker than usual.


End file.
